


Gossip Mill

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Christine and Spock: true wlw/mlm solidarity, F/F, brief appearances from kirk chekov and sulu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: Christine and Nyota, and the relentless flow of gossip aboard the Enterprise.





	Gossip Mill

**Author's Note:**

> This is, for all intents and purposes, my first chahura fic. (Yes, if you go poking through my works you'll find another, but its a San Junipero au that rips its plot and most of the characterization straight from the episode, so it barely counts.) I had a lot of fun with this, which you can probably tell, and put a lot of thought into my characterizations of Christine and Nyota, which you probably can't. I think probably the biggest deviation from canon is the friendship I present between Christine and Spock; I'm of the firm opinion that Christine Chapel is a lesbian, on top of not having really appreciated the way her crush was used in the show, so it's my personal canon rewrite. (Likewise, Janice's major appearance features her in a uniform with pants instead of a skirt; we all know the ladies of the Enterprise mix it up from time to time.)
> 
> Anyway! Please, enjoy this 4k of messy Enterprise shenanigans with our girls at the center of it all, and have a happy (last few days of) Chahura Month!

Nyota glances up from whatever story Scotty’s telling and breaks into a wide grin that Christine can’t help but mimic, especially when Nyota scoots slightly closer to the operations officer next to her and pats the bench on her other side.

“You look like a lovesick puppy,” Geoff teases, in his soft mellow voice, and Christine clears her throat, face flushing red. She sets her tray down delicately next to Nyota as Geoff rounds the table to join Scotty, and she’s nearly recovered her composure when--

“Yer a bit flush, dear, ye haven’t caught anythin’ from one o’ yer patients have you?” Scotty asks, so earnestly that Christine can’t even be mad at him.

Geoff, on the other hand, gets his foot stomped on under the table to cut off his snickers. “M’Benga told me a dirty joke while we were in line, and I still haven’t recovered,” she lies breezily.

Nyota grins, leaning forward to wiggle her perfectly tweezered eyebrows at him. “A good one?”

“A _new_ one?” Scotty asks, wistfully.

Geoff coughs uncomfortably. “Uh, no, sorry to disappoint. Not even worth repeating, really.”

Christine reaches across the table to pat Scotty’s hand sympathetically. “There must be one somewhere in the galaxy,” she assures him.

“Let a couple ensigns know you’re on a quest and let the gossip mill do the work,” Nyota suggests. “You’ll have them stopping you in the halls to do their worst.”

Christine claps a hand over her mouth, then smacks Nyota with it lightly, hissing, “Mr. Spock would have a conniption!”

"It’s a good idea though, lass.” Scotty looks entirely too thoughtful, spinning his fork between his fingers as he gazes off into space. “Mayhap I could set up some kind o’ communication relay a la old Earth voicemail...”

“It’s a wonder he never actually writes you up,” Geoff laughs, shaking his head as he digs into his lunch.

“The captain interceded on his behalf,” Nyota says, taking a prim sip of water that’s betrayed by the smirk in her dark eyes, glittering over the rim of the cup. “Kirk still receives all his complaints, but they never file them through official channels.”

“Reliable sources,” Christine says (and ignores Geoff’s huff of laughter), “say Kirk tried to make the same arrangement regarding Len, but Len found out and instead arranged a weekly meeting for Spock to ‘air his goddamn grievances straight to his face.’“

Nyota snorts. “As if Spock didn’t already.”

Christine laughs a little helplessly. “You’d think, yet I still have to listen to Len complain for the first hour of my shift every Saturday.”

“Is _that_ what all his griping is about?” Geoff’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You know, without context it sounds a lot like they’ve got a weekly date night and Spock can never resist criticizing... uh...” He waves a hand vaguely.

Nyota folds her arms on the table, dropping her face into them as her shoulders shake with silent laughter, while Scotty looks horrified; Christine is somewhere between the two. “Geoff,” she hisses, reaching across the table to smack his shoulder.

He holds up his hands, eyes sparkling with amusement. “The only other time I’ve heard the word ‘performance’ quoted with such flabbergasted disdain--”

Nyota practically sobs with laughter, grabbing desperately at Christine’s knee. She feels herself turn bright red at the contact and reaches over to rub Nyota’s back soothingly, thankful that Scotty’s too busy staring at his water like he wishes it were vodka to notice.

“I think we need to change the subject,” Christine says weakly.

Geoff- after a pause to laugh silently at her- obliges. “Bryce and Jakobs made up, so they’re trying to convince me to convince McCoy to take him back off gamma.”

Christine wrinkles her nose. “It’s awful to say, but I was hoping the breakup would stick this time. Even when they aren’t actively fighting, their productivity goes down around each other because they spend so much time mooning.”

Geoff makes a face halfway between annoyance and agreement. “I have no intentions on passing the request on,” he admits. “It seems cruel to keep a couple on opposite shifts, but I also haven’t seen any evidence that they’ve pulled their act together.”

“Give them a warning that Len’s about this close to threatening to transfer one or the other of them off the ship.” Christine holds her thumb and forefinger up less than an inch apart. “I’m willing to run interference on that count, at least, if they’re on their best behavior for the next six weeks, but not a second before.”

“You’re a saint, Nurse Chapel,” Geoff informs her with a wink.

(A saint, Christine thinks, would have many fewer inappropriate thoughts about her best friend’s hand on her knee. She smiles a vague acceptance of the compliment anyway.)

Nyota finally sits up, patting Christine’s thigh in apology before she withdraws her hand. She dabs at her eyes with a napkin as she sucks in a shaky breath. “Navigating relationships on a starship can’t be easy,” she says, sounding just a bit wistful.

Christine makes a noise of agreement low in her throat. Still, she can’t help pointing out, masochist that she is, “Being in different departments would help.”

“Aye, lassie, and similar ranks, too.” Scotty waves a fork at Geoff. “Dinnit that little hooligan Bryce get ‘imself in a load of it by pulling rank on the lass the next day?”

Christine purses her lips, feeling a flare of the same anger she’d felt then. “Len was _extremely_ pissed at me for yelling at him before he could.”

“She reduced him to tears,” Geoff adds, with a note of pride in his voice.

“What I wouldn’t give to’ve been on the scene,” Nyota sighs, nudging Christine teasingly. “Mild-mannered Chapel tearing into one of her nurses.”

“I’ve got th’ footage.” Scotty shrugs as they all turn to stare at him as one. “The captain requested it and the instigatin’ incident after McCoy filed the official report. ‘Twas a true thing of beauty, lass, so I kept a file for meself.”

“This calls for a movie night,” Nyota declares, with a spark in her eye.

Christine groans in embarrassment, hand over her eyes as she wrinkles her nose, but Nyota presses into her side and- when Christine peeks out between her fingers- gives her most charming smile.

“Fine,” Christine grumbles, and preemptively kicks Geoff in the shin before he can laugh at her again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tucked into the back corner of the recreational lounge of the _Enterprise_ , Nyota plucks idly at her lyre as Christine skims the medical journal article that’s had subspace communications abuzz for the last week. Half of Starfleet medical considers it a revelation, but Len- and most other CMOs and medical personnel who've sharpened their teeth on the frontier of the galaxy- are less convinced.

Looking over the methods section, Christine can see why. “Their focus group is _worthless_ ,” she mutters, and Nyota sets her lyre aside and leans into Christine’s side to peer curiously over her shoulder. Obligingly, Christine highlights a paragraph, blowing it up for Nyota to be able to read. “See? It’s too homogeneous; there’s nothing to suggest these results will hold true for anyone other than cis white males ages 20 to 25--and alright, that population probably makes up ten to fifteen percent of Starfleet’s officers, so that alone doesn’t make it _worthless_ information to have. But given the atrocious job they’ve done of mimicking the actual atmosphere of a starship, I’m inclined to call all of their conclusions into question.”

She flicks the paragraph back into place, huffing a laugh. “Len’ll be thrilled I agree with him; he keeps asking if I’ve had a chance to read this yet, and it’s clearly been killing him trying not to poison me against it before I had the chance to draw my own conclusions.”

“Doctor McCoy values your opinion very highly,” Nyota agrees, sounding almost proud.

Christine feigns an aloof sniff- to cover the flush of embarrassed pleasure that stains her cheeks- and says loftily, “Doctor McCoy is a very smart man.”

Nyota laughs, a sound that never fails to make Christine’s heart skip a beat. (She hopes Nyota, pressed tight and warm against her shoulder, can’t somehow sense it.) “A very, very smart man. He’s put in a standing request for me to contact him before the Captain if anyone ever tries to steal you away from the _Enterprise_ , you know. To make sure we don’t even come close to losing the best nurse in the ‘fleet.”

Christine smiles softly down at her PADD. Len is an excellent CMO and a wonderful boss; she hopes her nurses think half so highly of her as she does of him. “That’s very sweet of him, even if--”

Nyota huffs, a puff of amused mischief that stirs the whisps of blonde that have escaped Christine’s meticulous updo throughout the course of the day. “Oh, I agreed. I have my own reasons to keep you on this ship, and Jim will be happy to look the other way on a minor lapse in protocol.”

Christine’s mouth feels a little dry, and she twists slightly to be able to meet Nyota’s warm, dark eyes. “Your own...?” she trails off, not quite daring to hope, and Nyota smiles with just a trace of nervousness.

“Christine, I--”

Of course, that’s when Janice enters with her usual whirlwind of noise and color, dragging a chair over backwards with a painful shriek of metal on tile. She straddles it- having traded her more typical skirted uniform for pants today- as she declares gleefully, “I’ve only got a minute, but girls, you are _never_ gonna believe what Givens told me this morning.”

Nyota settles back into her seat with a soft sigh, and Christine ruefully glances over the inch of space between them as she turns off the screen of her PADD.  Janice waits for their gazes and attention to focus on her, then she leans in conspiratorially, eyes glittering.

“So last night there was a brief- we’re talking less than a second- glitch in the artificial-grav systems; they abruptly rose by about 17% before returning to normal. If you weren’t awake, you probably didn’t even _notice,_ but--”

“That doesn’t sound like Scotty,” Christine interrupts, intrigued despite herself.

“No wonder he was in such an awful mood at breakfast,” Nyota muses.

Janice shakes her head. “Actually, no, but I’m getting to that.” She taps her nose with one red-manicured nail. “You are right, though, Christine; it had nothing to do with Scotty, except arguably poor department management. Some ensign skipped his maintenance duties to make out with his boyfriend in a jeffries tube, which normally _wouldn’t_ lead to a failure in the regulatory systems so quickly, but another girl wasn’t paying attention and flipped the wrong switch, and the mistakes compounded each other. Naturally, the former has been dismissed from the ‘fleet and the latter received a reprimand.”

Janice pauses to take a breath, and Nyota nudges Christine, voice morbidly facinated as she whispers, “It cannot _possibly_ be comfortable to get intimate with someone in a jeffries tube.”

“It’s not,” Christine mutters back thoughtlessly, then promptly flushes red as Nyota’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline. Her face is split into a delighted grin, and her gaze lingers even as Janice picks back up the thread of her story.

 “So, it’s 0300, Scotty’s just had to fire someone, and all the engineers on gamma- plus a few who came running when the glitch woke them up, you know how high strung engineering ensigns can get- are sort of standing around awkwardly staring at each other.” She flings her hands out wide. “And Min Sung descends on the department like the angel of wrath.”

Christine frowns. “Min Sung... the botanist?”

Janice crosses one leg over the other, a satisfied look on her face as she folds her hands over her bare knee. “The one and only.”

She’s clearly waiting for a better prompt. Nyota shoots Christine an amused glance, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, before asking patiently, “Why was Min Sung furious with engineering?”

“Well,” Janice says casually, “ _apparently_ a 17% change in gravity is enough to break the stalks of a certain delicate Andorian wheat. Six months of research went up in smoke in 300 milliseconds, so when Sung realized what happened, she dropped the now-worthless vegetation like a hot potato and stormed down into the depths of the ship. G’s voice was thirty percent awe, thirty percent fear, and forty percent uncomfortable arousal as they described the way she tore Scotty a new one.”

Janice cackles. “Officially, she’s getting a reprimand from Spock. Unofficially, our resident Vulcan’s helping her salvage what they can of the experiment, and his interdepartmental memo demanding better redundancy for the grav systems in the science labs reads like a declaration of war. And since Scotty’s even more pissed at his department than Spock, he and Min have already buried the hatchet.” She bites her lip thoughtfully as she muses, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we see her take on a role as Spock’s right-hand in the coming months; the position’s been vacant for some time now.”

“Good,” Nyota says fervently. “This ship is in desperate need of female command positions.”

“And Mr. Spock will certainly benefit from learning to delegate a little,” Christine says, remembering the almost imperceptible lines of fatigue around his eyes the last time she’d convinced him to join her for a meal. (It’s hard to tell if Spock considers them friends, but she likes to think he does; he typically accepts her overtures of friendship on the occasions she dares to make them.) She sighs. “Though I don’t suppose there’s any chance he’d pass off any of his paperwork.”

Janice uncrosses her legs, twisting in her seat to see the chrono next to the door. She heaves an annoyed sigh. “Speaking of paperwork, I have to go. It’s time for me to pointedly shove some under our fearless leader’s nose every fifteen seconds until he can’t feign ignorance of its existence any longer.” She motions to her legs as she rises, a note of ferocity in her voice as she explains, “The pants- and the extra hairspray- are so I can chase him through the _goddamned halls_ if I have to.”

“Good luck,” Nyota says, laughing, and Janice bares her teeth in a feral smile.

“Tell that to Captain Kirk.”

They watch her depart, back straight and hair perfectly coiffed, and Nyota remarks offhandedly, “That woman doesn’t get half the commendations she deserves.”

Christine laughs. “If the captain ever tried to have her transferred, I’d think we’d all be fully justified to mutiny.”

Nyota smiles, holding Christine’s gaze for a moment that seems too long, and a companionable silence falls between them. Christine waits for Nyota to return to the conversation Janice had interrupted, her heart pounding in her chest, but--but Nyota shakes herself slightly, smile going rueful as she leans down to retrieve her lyre from the floor, and Christine returns to her PADD.

(Immersing herself in the truly atrocious journal article is almost enough to let her forget the pit of disappointment in her stomach.)

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Mr. Spock,” Christine greets, smiling fondly at him. “What brings you down here to sickbay?”

He inclines his head slightly to acknowledge her greeting, hands clasped behind his back. “Nurse Chapel, Dr. McCoy has--”

Christine throws back her shoulders, eyes narrowing. “ _Dr. McCoy_ hasn’t taken a day off in three months; if he thinks I’m letting him spend tonight doing paperwork just because he’s sent you as a courier, he has another thing coming.” She prods him in the chest for good measure, since the gesture always seems to get Len results when he makes use of it.

Spock looks faintly amused, an expression that is entirely communicated through a slight crinkling of his eyes and a general aura. “Christine,” he begins again, delicate stress on the informal address, “the doctor informs me you have been off shift for nearly seventy minutes, and has requested that you join us.”

Christine clears her throat, sliding shut the drawer she’s been organizing. “My apologies, Mr. Spock,” she says faintly.

“Unnecessary, but accepted.”

She huffs, shooting him a half-hearted glare. She’s pretty sure he’s laughing at her, somewhere behind that stoic Vulcan facade. “Who exactly constitutes ‘us’?” she asks. “It’s not just the two of you, is it?” Her stomach lurches. “It’s not the two of you and _the captain_ , is it?”

She can’t imagine Len would want her around if that were the case, and she certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable even if he did; the phrase “fourth wheel” springs to mind.

“Negative.” Spock follows as she walks across the sickbay, drawing the curious gazes of the two nurses whose shift this actually is. “The social gathering comprises most of the senior staff members aboard the ship, including Lieutenant Uhura.”

Christine clears her throat, cheeks dusted pink, and imbues her tone with as much stubborn disapproval as she can. “You, Mr. Spock, are in dire need of a lesson in _tact_.”

It’s just a ghost of a touch on her elbow, but it makes her breath catch in her throat anyway. She looks up, meeting Spock’s serious gaze, and he insists in a low tone, “You are off duty, Christine. Allow your subordinates to complete your tasks and accompany me to the recreational lounge, or neither of us shall ‘hear the end of it’ from Dr. McCoy.”

(The air quotes, though he doesn’t stoop to expressing them, are audible.)

Christine resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest in a show of stubbornness; had Len himself come down she certainly would have indulged. (If she hadn’t already tossed him readily out of sickbay; that is, undoubtedly, why he sent Spock.) She lifts her chin instead, saying calmly, “I can’t imagine what he threatened you with to get you down here, Mr. Spock, but I’m sure he won’t follow through with it.”

 _You’ve done your duty, so you can go now_ goes unspoken; Spock looks summarily unimpressed by the sentiment. “You are under the impression I did not volunteer.”

Christine matches Spock’s eyebrow with one of her own, but it’s a losing battle and they both know it. She sighs and turns to her nurses, motioning towards the cabinet she’d been planning to inventory. “I’m off for the night, ladies; take care of this for me, please.”

“Of course, Nurse Chapel.”

“Have a lovely night, Ms. Christine.”

Christine slides her arm through Spock’s, smirking as he stiffens in surprise, and declares, “Lead the way, Mr. Spock.”

“Certainly, Nurse Chapel,” he says, with a hint of disapproval in his tone.

 _Serves you right_ , she projects loudly at him, just in case he can hear her through the sleeves of their uniforms. _I should give you a swift kick in the pants for that “Lieutenant Uhura” comment._

Spock gives a tiny Vulcan sigh of annoyance, and Christine counts it as a victory.

The sickbay doors slide shut behind them, and with one last pat on the arm she extricates herself from Spock. (She’s not _really_ mad at him, and while tolerant of the contact she knows he’s not exactly thrilled with it either.) She waits another moment and then, with feigned nonchalance, she asks, “So who told you, anyway?”

“Told me, Christine?”

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Mr. Spock,” she says tartly.

He glances down at her, fairly radiating amusement though he gives no outside indication. “I do not engage in gossip.”

Christine huffs. “Nor are you particularly wise to the ways of human pining, let me assure you.” Spock ignores the bait with his usual stoicism, and Christine hums under her breath, mimicking him by clasping her own hands behind her back. “So it was Len?”

He hesitates only briefly. “Affirmative.”

Christine takes pity on Spock, and she doesn’t give voice to the rather unkind things she’s thinking about her boss at the moment.

She holds her silence until they enter the lounge, where she gives him a smile to indicate her begrudging thanks for his interference- he nods slightly in acknowledgement- and then turns to face the rest of the room. She projects her voice as she declares, “Dr. McCoy is a meddlesome, meddlesome man, Mr. Spock. You’d do well to steer clear of his machinations in the future.”

Len, who had been coming over to greet her, splutters indignantly; Christine smiles serenely and brushes past him.

Geoff waves a hand in greeting when she catches his eye, but Nyota- briefly abandoning the game of pool she’s engaged in with the captain, Chekov, and Sulu- darts over to grab her hand. “You made it!” she says brightly, even as Christine starts at the unexpected contact.

She doesn’t look, but she knows Geoff is burying a laugh in his cup of Scotty-approved mystery liquor.

“If I’d realized there was a party, I might have dragged myself away sooner.” Christine lets Nyota lead her back to the pool table--helpless in the face of the other woman’s enthusiasm. She smiles at the captain and Sulu and accepts a half-hug from Chekov, who has apparently already reached a clingy level of tipsy in the hour and a half since his shift ended.

(He thinks that because he’s Russian, he cannot possibly be a lightweight; politely, the crew allows him to live on in this delusion.)

“I’m glad you came, Chapel; Bones had about worked himself up into a rant on hypocrisy when Mr. Spock offered to go fetch you.” Kirk grins slightly slyly, winking at her as he lines up his shot. “Clearly the only logical method of getting him to shut up.”

“And _I’m_ glad you came because I actually value your presence,” Nyota says, with a rather withering glare. She still has not let go of Christine’s hand.

Kirk makes a gesture of peace and laughs. “I’m properly chastised, Lieutenant. Disengage phasers.”

Christine laughs along with Chekov and Sulu- the latter of whom nudges Nyota with his elbow as he moves around the pool table, wiggling his eyebrows slightly- and squeezes Nyota’s hand unthinkingly. “Why _is_ there a party going on?” she asks, over the background of hum of conversation and general merriment.

Nyota leans closer than necessary to answer her, their shoulders brushing with her shrug. “I think it just sort of happened. Janice drags Scotty into a game of charades, one of his lieutenants appears out of thin air with alcohol, next thing you know...” she waves a hand.

“Who’s complaining?” Sulu asks with a grin. “It’s not everyday a man gets to thoroughly trounce his captain at pool.”

“My partner is drunk!” Kirk complains, and Chekov bristles, swaying slightly as he brandishes his pool cue menacingly.

“I vill not stand for such-- such slander!”

“Jim’s just trying to find an excuse for why he’s losing,” Nyota says soothingly, rubbing a hand along his shoulders. Her grin turns a little sly as she glances over at her captain. “The only way to settle this is for him to face Hikaru one on one.”

Sulu and Kirk eye each other appraisingly. “I’m game if you are, Captain,” Sulu declares, brandishing his pool cue like a foil. He taps it lightly against the captain’s chest, leaving a little blue smudge on the gold of his uniform, and grins widely. “May the better man win.”

Kirk’s got a look in his eye that Christine, as a member of the _Enterprise’_ s medical crew, is conditioned to respond to with utmost suspicion. “Let’s get out of here while we still can,” she advises, tugging lightly at Nyota’s hand as Kirk casually spins his pool cue in one hand.

“Every woman for herself,” Nyota agrees, clearly deciding it’s not worth stepping between Kirk and Sulu to rescue Chekov. She turns her hand slightly, threading her fingers through Christine’s, and heads for safer ground.

Christine reaches out to brush Len’s shoulder as they pass--she’s loathe to interrupt his conversation with Spock, given how civil it appears to be, but the trash talk behind her is increasing in intensity. “Captain Kirk is about to get in a sword fight with pool cues,” she whispers.

Len spins on his heel, cursing, and sets off with a Vulcan on his heels.

Nyota looks back over her shoulder to watch them go, nose slightly scrunched. “Should I apologize for instigating that?” she mutters.

“Not unless you want to be on gamma shift for the next two weeks.” Christine glances over her shoulder as well--Sulu’s roaring with laughter, Spock has the captain over one shoulder, and Chekov has plastered himself to a bewildered Len’s side. “Do you want to maybe...”

“Get out of here?” Nyota’s voice is full of fond exasperation. “I think it’s best, if we don’t want to end up on the admiralty’s shit list with the rest of these hooligans.”

They slip unnoticed out the door as Geoff and Janice begin loudly orchestrating a betting pool, for whatever purpose. Christine is a little scared to look back and find out.

“The observation deck?” she asks, voice loud in the sudden silence.

Nyota doesn’t answer. Her dark eyes are fixed on their still-clasped hands, something soft and warm lighting them from within; Christine’s breath catches in her throat for the second time tonight.

“We’re in different departments,” she says, as nonchalantly as she can manage. Nyota’s eyes snap up to hers, and she smiles nervously. “And we’re the same rank. It might still be hard, but--”

“Oh, Christine,” Nyota breathes. She lets go of Christine’s hand, a loss that’s only felt until she cradles Christine’s face in her hands, that irresistible smile on her lips. “We’re fools, aren’t we, for taking this long?”

Christine curls her hand around Nyota’s wrist, wondering at the softness of her skin, and laughs a little helplessly. “We shouldn’t do this here; you know how gossip spreads on this ship, and Janice is less than thirty feet away at this very--”

Nyota’s lips silence hers. She pulls back, breathing out, “Let them talk,” and moves in once more.The door behind them slides open, and someone- probably Scotty- wolf whistles as Geoffrey and Sulu shout genial encouragement.

In the morning, Christine will be mortified.

In the morning, Christine will also get to hold Nyota’s hand in line at breakfast; it’s a worthwhile trade.

**Author's Note:**

> The Nyota-POV of this fic would be similarly full of helpless pining, but with Sulu playing the role of "close friend extraordinarily entertained by said pining". He also likes to give Nyota advice in the form of long anecdotes re: his wooing of Ben that she knows for a fact aren't true because Ben told her the /real/ story of their first date last time they talked


End file.
